


Tongue-in-Cheek

by frooit



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Blow Jobs, Body Piercing, Drinking, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Kissing, M/M, One Shot, Oral Sex, Piercings, Pining, Popsicles, Reno's tacky, Swearing, Teasing, Whining, descriptions of procedure, general irresponsibility, ham-fisted innuendo, pining time, weekend impulses, when do they actually work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:15:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25441516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frooit/pseuds/frooit
Summary: Reno has aspirations.
Relationships: Reno/Rude (Compilation of FFVII)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 77





	Tongue-in-Cheek

It's the start of the weekend, like any other weekend.

They've ended their friday night and settled into their current most favourite and most tolerant bar, as usual, slumped and drinking, and shooting the breeze, as usual. And Reno's being an obnoxious drunk. As usual.

Reno and Elena stoke the intermittent conversation. They're arguing about something or other: the day, the job; the wins and losses. And Rude is and isn’t listening. He's otherwise too busy watching Reno's profile, his jaw, his wide open shirt collar, the back of his head, and how he turns his whole body, contorted and casual, long and lean, to contest their female companion, stupid ponytail swishing.

Rude’s not doing much of anything. He's staying out of trouble. He's waiting for his opening. For the most part. How long can one carry a torch for someone before it goes out on its own? Rude takes a sip of his drink. 

“What?” Elena barks.

Rude slides only his eyes, blacked-out behind his shades, over to check. Reno is between them at the bar top. He has himself swiveled on his stool to look out across the bar floor at their backs. He is draped diagonally, mid-spine to counter lip, both elbows propped on rounded counter edge, long legs crossed low at the ankles. Cool.

Elena is turned about as well.

They're looking at a minor fuss occupying a table on the far side of the busy rectangular room.

“You're gonna tell me you'd do that?” Elena asks, the disbelief a wonderful slur and gust.

“Why not?” Reno replies.

He scoffs and turns to face the bar top.

“It's tacky, that's why," Elena explains.

“You think I'm afraid of being tacky?”

Elena snorts and joins him against the bar, swinging her squeaky stool. “Doesn't it hurt?”

“Probably.” Reno bounces his eyebrows and takes a deep drink of his room temperature beer.

“You wouldn't,” Elena mumbles.

Reno swallows audibly. “I would,” he insists, licking his wet lips dry.

“You're… crazy,” Elena hisses, shaking her head. “And stupid.”

Reno shrugs, thoroughly unruffled. “Or so I've been told.”

“Is this just... your oral fixation talking?”

Reno grins. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Elena huffs and rises, speaking right over Reno's slumped shoulders and head. “Hey, Rude, are you awake? You not gonna talk your reckless partner outta this? You'll have to deal with the worst of it. Night and day. Day and night.”

Rude hears his name. “Hmm,” he replies.

Reno clicks his tongue. “See, he's on my side.”

Elena sighs and drops back into her stool. “He's just had too much.”

Rude shakes his head, slow and sure, left to right. “Not enough. For this conversation.”

Now Reno's turning to him. He might as well be turning on him. “Oh, come on, man. Look how cool that looks. And it’d be over in a second.” He nudges up into Rude’s shoulder. He leans in. His long hair shifts and falls. His face is too close. His firm touch tingles, lingers. It pushes and shoves. Always. “Tell me that's not cool,” his voice gusts, breathy, boozy, and all for Rude.

Rude looks. Finally. He has to. He's learned he can hold out for only so long. His patience is monumental, but Reno is an immovable object, and the repercussions are exact. And persistent. And messy. They all eyeball the patron at the far table. The guy's a bit of a show off. A peacock. He’s parading and puffing. He's surrounded by his adoring fans.

Rude and Elena speak in unison.

“It's not cool.”

Reno fumes and bristles and drinks.

There is a pause, a break, an inhale.

The whole place breathes around them.

“Hey, no. Wait,” Elena exclaims, striking a finger at the air, turning to Rude. “This might actually be a good idea, Rude. It might actually get him to shut up… Because, you know, he literally has to. At least for a little while. While it heals. That's a plus.”

“Not likely,” Rude rumbles.

Elena outright laughs.

“Fuck you both,” Reno growls.

“Oh, don't you be mean,” Elena sniffs. “We're trying to save you from yourself. You should be thanking us.”

“I'm gonna do this now, for sure, just to spite you assholes. Just to prove how awesome it is.”

“Don't do that,” Rude offers.

“I'm doin' it,” Reno counters.

“I wouldn’t.”

“I'm so fucking doing it. Right fucking now.”

Reno slams his empty bottle down on the bar and twists up, staggering, standing, and making to pester the guy and the group thumping and vibrating away. He's leaving them behind to sit and grouse and roll their eyes.

Rude sighs.

They watch from their post.

Elena eagerly watches.

Rude doesn’t bother. He uses the mirrored back of the bar's shelves stocked with bottles and bottles and bottles, and he can see just fine. Without looking like he's being protective.

Reno being Reno, and also being drunk, maybe it's tipsy, or maybe it's crazy, or maybe it’s stupid, he saunters right up to the guy, and his whole crowd, and invades their bubble.

There is no audible conversation. He and Elena observe as Reno waves and jabbers, gesturing and pointing, and then pointing to the guy's mouth, and the article in question there, and then his own mouth.

It doesn't take long.

Reno’s got his tongue hanging out. He's prodding at it, poking, nodding and grinning around it, and making an ass of himself. He's loud and proud, red, white, and black.

The crowd laughs and leans.

“Not again…” Elena mumbles.

She swivels, her stool sticking and squeaking. She hunches low, and reaches for her next drink.

“Isn't this how he got those stupid facial tattoos?

No more than forty-five minutes later, Rude’s strolling Sector 5, a working class plate, having come from Sector 6, another working class plate, all because he’s following Reno as he staggers and prowls the dark and dismal, damp, and breathing streets ahead of him.

He knows where Reno’s going, and he’s too intrigued to see how it will end to stop him. Or is it tipsy? Or is it stupid? Or is it bored?

He doesn’t think about it long. He makes sure Reno doesn’t fall on his face, and into a pedestrian. He’ll make sure he doesn’t get himself too fucked up for work come monday.

“Here we are!” Reno crows.

He has stopped, swaying only a little, right in front of a shop, his arms held wide over his head in reverence. The place blinks, on and off, bright fluorescents in the windows winking pink and blue. It's brick and steel and glass straight up. Pictures posted showcase procedures and designs.

They might already have a reputation with the owners.

“Are you drunk?”

“Maybe,” Reno answers.

“I can't do this if you’re drunk, man. And I was just closing up…”

“You do know who I am, right?”

The guy pauses.

The guy, because Rude still doesn't know his name. He looks to Rude, and then back to Reno. “Let's just… see if you can even get it done…”

Reno is led by the guy to a chair for an assessment.

Fresh medical gloves are donned.

Reno is all too willing to stick out his tongue.

“Gotta make sure…” the guy mumbles as he works, peering into Reno’s cracked wide mouth. He uses a bright handheld light to see whatever he needs to see inside there.

Rude stands by, arms crossed, hoping, just a little bit, that this won’t get beyond stage one.

“Okay,” the guy eventually sighs, clicking off his light and leaning upright. “Length’s good. And the veins look okay too. Guess we’re doing this.”

Reno pumps a fist at the air in delight. He then turns to stick that doomed muscle out at Rude.

Of course it’s happening. He's all tongue, this guy.

“Should I even ask if—”

“Just do it, man,” Reno replies.

“Alright, alright,” the guy grumbles. “Hold up. Let me get all my shit together…”

Once the guy is out of earshot, Rude tries one last (and customary) attempt. “You sure about this?"

“Don’t worry, part,” Reno assures.

He said that last time. He said that before sudden explosions. He said that before falling out of a helicopter. He said that before jumping out of a helicopter. He said that before… So, so many times before. And look where they are now: red hair, red tattoos, red eyes (from too much drink), and an over-sized needle coming his way, ready to turn his tongue red too.

“Oh, shit,” Reno breathes, seeing that needle getting closer.

“Hah,” the guy laughs. “Afraid of needles?”

“I might be after this,” Reno remarks.

The guy sets his supplies onto a mobile medical tray nearby. “So… before I do anything,” he states, “there are some rules… and I know you probably won't follow them, but it's my job to tell you anyway.”

Reno runs his fingers through his messy hair.

“Don’t smoke," the guy says.

“I don’t,” Reno retorts.

“Good. Don’t.”

“Okay then.”

The guy clears his throat, glances to Rude (still there, still unmoved), and starts again.

“No drinking—”

“Hey—”

“Am I doing this or what?”

“Fine, fine,” Reno grumbles. 

“No drinking. No personal relations. No—”

“What do you mean by—”

“For fuck’s sake. Just open your damn mouth.”

Reno complies, lolling out his long tongue.

“Hold up,” Rude interjects.

The guy looks about ready to snap.

Reno furrows his brow and retracts his tongue.

“I want to hear it,” Rude says.

“Hear what?” the guy asks, standing upright. “The spiel?”

Rude nods.

Reno huffs and crosses his arms.

The guy's entire body sags. But, he does humour him. Perhaps only because Rude offers no change.

“Just…” the guy draws out, unable to keep eye contact for long. “Try and keep him away from the night life for a few weeks. And solid food. For a few days. If you can do that. No drinking, no kissing, no… intimacy. Of any kind. He could get an infection. And you’re gonna have to bring him back too. After the swelling goes down. He’s gonna need a shorter barbell. It’s gonna swell. And it'll hurt too. I suggest cleaning it twice a day, with an alcohol-free mouthwash, or just some salt water. Make sure he swishes it around—” 

“Talking over me like I’m a fucking child…”

Rude looks down on Reno, from on high, and over crossed arms, illustrating with a slight turn of his head and a nod. “If you act like a child…”

Reno tilts his face up to challenge him.

“You get ice cream?”

“Are we doing this?” the guys groans.

“Fuck, yes. Put it in me already,” Reno orders.

The guy sneers.

Rude frowns only slightly.

Reno grins and ejects his tongue.

The guy moves in, so over it all. He’s rechecking the position with his glaring light. He’s marking the puncture point on moist flesh with some sort of black marker. He’s switching up his equipment, tearing open sterilized tools, prepping and wheeling his medical tray closer. He’s getting ready. 

He once again looks to Rude. “He won’t be able to talk properly either. So, look forward to that.”

Reno surely would have had a rebuff, but he is too quickly caught by the guy’s reaching forceps. His tongue is pulled long. Reno has to move with it, right to the edge of the chair, exuding a bouquet of none-too-pleased noises, all of which are vowels. It’s not exactly normal procedure. The guy checks his mark a final time and readies his instrument.

“Here we go.”

Rude watches silently, arms still crossed, jaw now set.

It's all over in seconds. The short needle slides in and out of meaty flesh, from top to bottom, smooth and easy. Reno shows no reaction. He might not even know it’s done.

The guy removes the forceps, leaving that needle hanging there in Reno’s tender tongue, pierced and protruding over his lips and chin. He then references his medical tray, retrieving an item. He inserts a stud bar through the opening he just made, following up the needle as it passes through for good. After attaching a stud ball for the top and bottom side of the metal bar, he's done. The guy dusts off his hands.

“Thath it?” Reno asks him, tongue still lolling.

“Yup. Mirror’s over there.”

Reno rises, no less drunk, no less clumsy and eager, and almost stumbles backwards into Rude. But, Rude need only extend an arm to correct him. Reno makes no note of it and staggers off to inspect his new obsession.

“Oh thit,” he says to his own face.

Rude comes to stand behind him.

Reno's tongue, now impaled and paraded.

Reno's tongue, now altered and strange.

“Still worth it?” Rude asks his partner's reflection.

“You kiddin’? That wath a breethe.”

Fast forward to the next day, late afternoon.

“I'm gonna thtarve to death!” Reno screams.

“You're not going to starve,” Rude groans.

“I can't eat anything! I can hardly thwallow!”

“What a shame…” Rude sighs.

“Fuck you! I'll die! Thlow and painful!”

Rude shakes his head. “I'll put you out of my misery first.”

Reno glares at him, all daggers and red hair. “Oh, geeth. Real kind of you, yo.”

“Still worth it?” Rude prods.

The silence is nothing but indignant.

Hours later, and it’s only gotten worse.

“Can’t we go out tonight?” Reno whines.

“No drinking,” Rude tells him.

“I won’t drink. I jutht wanna gloat.”

Rude hangs his head. “No.”

“You’re not the both of me.”

Reno’s an expert at sulking

He’s sucking on his ice cubes. It’s to help reduce the swelling. And Rude is watching. And he can’t help his watching. At least Reno is too distracted. He can’t see how he’s seeing how he sprawls and groans. How he mopes and whines. How he hams it all up. How he aches for relief.

Reno lolls the tongue out, as much as he can, flat and enlarged, that diminishing ice cube just held there, melting, dripping, every drop rolling right off the tip, right down his chin and throat. His eyes close. His face smoothes. And it’s almost okay.

“You're getting the floor wet,” Rude points out.

And so, because of that, Rude decides to take him out to get a package of fruit popsicles.

It seemed like a better idea at the time. But, you know, now, back at the apartment, Rude’s right back where he left him: working his lewd mouth. Now with a more suggestive object.

“Mmm,” Reno hums.

He’s in a much better mood at least. He’s not complaining. He's wrapping his equally swollen lips around his frozen treat. It’s melon green. He's sucking and slurping as best he can. He's doing it on purpose, and giving Rude plenty more reasons to not be okay.

The guy said three to four days of swelling tops.

Rude can do this. He can get through this.

“Want one?” Reno offers.

Rude does not respond.

Sunday afternoon, and Reno’s bored and sulking.

Rude knows he’s feeling beat, and sore, and restless.

“Can’t we go out tonight?” he whines.

“Elena won’t be at the bar.”

“Tho? I want to thow it off!”

“You’ll want to drink. And it looks gross anyway.”

Reno glowers, and he doesn’t just glower either, not like a normal person, he has an irritating way of making disapproval look languid and indecent, tempting and teasing, just as it's nothing but negative. “I wanna thuck on your fathe, but ya don’t thee me doing that…”

Rude’s sure he heard him right. About as sure he is that he heard him wrong. It's nothing new, of course. Reno’s made a pass at him just about every day since the first, many months ago. He makes passes at anyone that suits his fancy. And just about everyone seems to suit his fancy.

“Take me thomewhere,” Reno orders. He ruffles his red hair, in that annoyed way he does, he sighs a dramatic sigh, and pulls on his nearby suit jacket, itching with so much bored energy.

“What was that?” Rude asks.

“Take me thom—”

Reno stops and bristles.

“Go,” he growls, pointing to the door.

Reno’s pace is off a step.

His shoulders are sagged inches too low.

His head is trained on his feet.

“What’s wrong?” Rude asks him.

Reno takes his time responding. He shoves his hands in his pants pockets and lifts his head level to look down the long street. “My shoes are dirty,” he says.

“M’hm,” Rude replies. He knows Reno’s not sleeping well. He knows he’s not eating well. And they shouldn’t be out. And they shouldn’t be walking, at the very least. But, they’re always walking, because they like the streets. That’s enough reason right there. They own a vehicle, but it sees little action. It’s still parked in a garage somewhere on company property. They usually stroll up to the office. The keys haven't been moved from Rude’s dresser. 

Either way, they can always use a helicopter if they really wanted to travel. Reno’s a fully capable pilot. Those are the perks of being a Turk. Those are the perks of being his partner.

“I wanna get in a fight,” Reno mumbles.

That’s just the translation too. Reno’s tongue is so swollen at this point, Rude’s having to guess. This is one of the downsides of being his partner. And the streets being calm. The last civil uprising was dealt with a year ago.

“We should go back,” Rude tells him.

“Where?” Reno asks.

“The apartment.”

“I’m thick of thitting around.”

“I’ll entertain you.”

Reno stops mid-stride and turns to face him.

Rude doesn’t really like what he sees.

Too tired, too strung out, too stubborn.

“What doth that mean?” Reno asks.

“Exactly what it sounds like,” Rude says. His expression does not falter.

Reno’s expression reels through a kaleidoscope of possibilities: confusion, amusement, worry.

He lands on incredulous.

“Have you taken anything for the pain?” Rude asks him, preempting the potential response.

“I’m not in pain,” Reno snaps. He’s never had the habit of expressing health related details. He’s never had the habit of lying well either. Not to Rude. Regardless of how often he does it.

“Bullshit,” Rude says.

Reno runs a hand through his hair. “Fine, okay, fine, yeah,” he rambles, and rolls his eyes. “Medicate me. Entertain me. Take me away...” He holds his arms out, crossed at the wrists.

Rude doesn’t have to do much after that.

They get in minutes later. Reno turns on the television in passing, an old movie is playing. Rude gets Reno some pills for the swelling and the pain. And then they settle on the sofa. The movie gets nowhere. Reno scoots closer and closer, until Rude reaches an arm around him and draws him in close. And they sit like that for the rest of the movie. For the credits rolling. Rude finds out that Reno has fallen asleep. He dropped his head right onto Rude’s shoulder and passed out.

Rude doesn’t get the chance to turn the television off.

He doesn’t mind.

Next weekend is not much better.

He complains at all hours. The worst of the swelling has gone down. He's looking to get a shorter barbell soon, and then he'll be all set. Ready to really show off his oral jewelry and talk his head off. But, Reno's still in a funk. Rude is all too aware. Elena did not react as Reno might have hoped. No one really has. And that's deflated him some.

He was expecting amusement, or shock.

He got nods, grimaces, and several scoffs.

The night is ending, the day is done, his fun is dead, and Reno's lips are already red thanks to the cherry popsicle he indulged in from the corner shop seconds ago. They're a hop and a jump from their apartment. It's punching out time. Reno hasn't made mention of any plans. Rude is cautious. Rude is hopeful.

They get in, door creaking miserably shut, a thunk and a click, the way it always does, and Reno's jacket is already off and flung over the back of the sofa, like he always does. He's already going for a stiff drink, and another fruit popsicle. He’s staying in.

“Early night?” he confirms.

Rude raises his eyebrows. “No play time?”

Reno shrugs. “Kinda tired. Wanna cuddle?”

Rude's eyebrows couldn’t get any higher.

Reno shrugs lower from the kitchen, making a face.

Rude tilts his head. “Maybe. What's the catch?”

“You stop starin’ at my lips and just go for it.”

“Huh?”

Reno cocks his hip, leaned into the kitchen countertop, meaning business. “You've been eyeballing my mouth since before I got this damn thing, but lately… You know. You can’t keep your eyes off ‘em. Just kiss me, man. I’m cool with it. Obviously. Kiss me.”

They're half in the small kitchen, half in the living room. They're feet from physical, terrifying, unpredictable contact, connection, and damnation. It's normal, average, unassuming on the surface. It's also intense and awesome, and Rude would be crazy to deny the offer.

Reno takes a sip from his drink, sets the glass on the lip of the counter next to him, and then he sucks in his newly opened popsicle. This one’s purple. He swallows it down as far as it will reach, purple disappearing. He twists it round, sucks in his cheeks, and slowly draws it back out.

It's a real show.

Rude wants to smack him. But, instead he crosses their distance, one, two, three, and kisses him, his still glistening lips, beating the popsicle back. The connection is sudden, sloppy, slippery, sweet and cold, so cold. And then it's colder. Reno makes a delighted noise and opens his mouth, unfurling his frigid tongue, and the metal stud inside, just as chilled and novel.

It's odd. It's sweet and simmering. Rude’s tongue rolls over and under Reno's tongue, careful, learning, languid. Metal meets flesh, flesh meets metal. He sucks and releases. He swipes and swirls. He forces Reno's head back. Soon their mouths are warm, warmer, hot. Soon the popsicle is forgotten, dripping all over Reno, onto the linoleum. Silence takes over. Silence, and heartbeats, and slick, wet sounds, and Reno humming, buzzing, engrossed. When Rude steps back, ending the short session, disengaging locked lips, Reno groans. He licks his obscene lips.

“Whaddya think?”

Reno means the piercing.

“Odd,” Rude answers. “And in the way.”

Reno pulls a face of pure annoyance, but it doesn't last. “Can try it without, ya know.”

Rude scoffs. “You mentioned cuddling.”

“That doesn't exclude making out.”

Rude stares his partner down. He cracks his knuckles. He sighs. “Make me a drink.”

Reno grins. “Ya got it.”

“I’ve never wanted to suck dick so bad,” Reno whimpers to himself.

He’s made it nineteen days. Nineteen long days.

He now has his new (chrome red) barbell and balls. He can eat and drink to his heart's content. He's no longer in constant pain or distress. But, he still can't fool around. And that's bothering him. Especially since he and his intense friend and partner have been making out and fondling most every night since that one night. Sometimes at the office, and once in the restroom, and the empty station platform, and three of the seven alleys on their way home. Reno wants to do more, even if it still hurts his tongue. And the most interesting stuff doesn't even involve their mouths, but. Rude isn't very quick to oblige. He’s a tough nut to crack. He's only had to kick Reno out of his bed thrice. And he's only gotten physical once.

“Shouldn't be doing that,” Rude tells him.

Reno bristles and bounces. “Ya really want me to stop? I just wanna test it out! How can you not be up for this? You do realize I wanna suck your dick, right? And I’ll swallow just for you...”

Reno is sat on his bed. It's late. Cold. Raining and moist outside. They're in, nice and cozy, waiting for the next work day to come. Reno has them trapped in his bedroom because he asked a question that Rude came to answer, and Reno hasn't stopped talking since. Rude still stands in the doorway, minutes on, keeping his escape route open, and his arms crossed. “You could get an infection,” he explains.

“I don't care,” Reno grunts. “You had my back. Just wantin’ to pay you back, yo.”

“I care.”

“See. You're so fuckin’ sweet, part.” Reno stands and crosses the room. He sidles up nice and close to Rude, leaving no space left to question the intentions. He leans in, all pale skin and red tattoos, ignoring the crossed arms between, and kisses Rude's stubbled cheek.

Rude does not move away, but he does drop his crossed arms, opening his guard, letting him in. “I have to hear you complain. Every damn time.”

Reno shrugs, dragging himself down Rude's front just enough. “You're an awfully clean individual. I think I'll be okay. Really. I'll wash my mouth out every night. Promise.”

His body is warm and firm.

His smell is earthy and fresh.

“Hmm.”

Reno molds to him, immodest and needy. He kisses his jaw. He rolls his narrow and bony hips forward. He presses close, chest to chest, lips to nape. “You gotta be the cleanest dick I know.” Wiggling a hand down to rub at him through his loose slacks, Reno carefully starts to unzip Rude's fly, upping the game, forcing his hand.

“Hm.”

“Well, that kinda came out wrong…”

Rude shakes his head. “No, it didn't. The foulest mouth I know.”

The situation is heating him up. Thin and strong fingers slide.

Reno smiles. “It fits, I guess.”

A pointed look. Pointed enough for Rude.

“Opposites attract, yo,” Reno explains. Fingers grip, flex, and begin to tug. They curl around, slide and venture, feeling, caressing. Fabric clings. Flesh strains.

Rude is already stiff. This isn't a first. This is pent up and always raked over.

“Hm.”

“Your clean dick in my foul mouth,” Reno offers.

“Wouldn't be so… clean anymore...” Rude musters.

“Nah. Maybe not.” Reno licks and nips at his partner’s throat.

Rude feels that metal slug drag, solid, weighty. He should stop him. Like always. But, he waits. He allows Reno to writhe and squirm. He’s kissing his flesh, nipping his flesh. He releases him, licking his exposed collarbone as a farewell, and drops down onto his knees.

Rude doesn't want to stop him.

Reno looks up and sticks out his tongue, teasing. Not this time. It's all boiled down to this moment. He can't say no anymore. He wants Reno. He's wanted Reno. And here he comes. Rude feels the chill of the air first, his excitement being let loose, Reno freeing him, and then it's the scorching heat of wet flesh. Rude groans and looks away.

Reno presses his tongue flat to just the tip of his cock, barbell bumping. He licks and laps, being gentle, only heating Rude up the more. Reno focuses his attention, swirling up and back, pressing hard, pressing light, starting slow. Soon, he's pursing those wet lips, and working the swollen head over his coarse tongue.

He gives Rude just a hint, not yet allowing complete and depthy entry. He ducks and hums. He licks and retreats. He teases. He draws him out and spears him back, no more than halfway. Before a rhythm can be established he moves on, licking him raw, drawing that slippery tongue up and down shaft, saliva running, friction building, barbell flirting, sanity shattering.

Rude is falling apart. And then Reno swallows his cock down, all at once, once and for all, reenacting the purple popsicle for him in every excruciating detail. Rude sways into the doorframe. His fingers tug at red hair. He doesn't make a sound. He can’t. Reno grabs onto him, fingers latching, mouth still working. He hums and he sucks. He goes slowly, he goes quickly. He reminds him of that piercing. He bobs it over his tender head and shaft.

Rude moans. Reno pushes him inside his mouth, over and over. He swallows him down, over and over. And Rude moans for every single motion. Louder and louder. Until Reno slows, languid and learned. Rude’s consensus is still— 

“It's... odd,” he musters.

Reno stops only to make a joke.

He eases him from his mouth. He gasps and sighs. “We can try without it, ya know.”

Rude almost smiles. Almost. He's far too busy reaching for the back of Reno's throat, and watching Reno's eyes widen, and fighting off the impending desire to explode, and fill his partner's insidious mouth with molten come, so, he can't really smile.

He fists Reno's hair and enjoys the slide, controlling the angle, the speed, the depth. He thoroughly tests out his metal addition, and his limits, enjoying the heat, the suction, the sound. He makes Reno's knees sore. He makes him regret his decision too. He also makes it worth all the mouthwash he's going to force him to gargle afterwards.

Rude revels, just long enough, caught in the doorway, inside the whole sensation, the entire situation, Reno's head between his weak legs, his mouth so very hot around him, and then he lets go. He forfeits. He lunges into Reno's face, deep into his mouth, a final time, and comes right down his gullet, fingers clawed over his skull, breath caught, cry strangled.

Reno rides his tidal wave, jaw wide, eyes clamped, throat working, and swallows down the messy result as it pours out, hot and slick, making Rude all the more breathless. The aftermath is chesty, heaving monotony. He has to admit.

“Yeah… I might... like it.”

Reno tilts his face up and grins at him. His lovely lips swollen smooth, brow wet and gleaming.

It's the start of the weekend, like any other weekend. They've ended their work and settled in for the night at their current favourite and most tolerant bar, as usual, slumped and drinking, and shooting the breeze, as usual. Elena finally asks Reno the fatal question.

“You still think it was worth it?” she says.

Reno doesn't miss a beat.

He shows his tongue, stud and all.

The damn piercing.

He takes a triumphant drink.

He snorts to himself.

“Why don’t you ask Rude?”

And Rude wants to smack him.

So, he does.

Rude smacks him right across the back of the head.


End file.
